I had opportunity to go by my first school this week, Forest
Hill elementary, so I took my camera. I
wanted to see if the rock was still there.
This is the school I went to. Built in 1926, with art deco embellishments
on the building that recognized the Indian trail portaging between the Cuyahoga
and Tuscaroras Rivers.
The City of Akron was able to pass a massive bond issue for
the purpose of rebuilding many old Akron schools, Forest Hill among them. In my childhood my school was on the front
half of a city block, the play area on the back half.
The new school was built on the back half of the property,
where the rock resided. This is the new
school. I understand some of the art
deco is featured inside the building.
The rock remains. In
my day it was closer to the intersection at the corner of the streets; we could
squeeze through the fence at the corner to have a go at the rock during the
summer time, too. We spent hours with a
small stone and a tin can, chipping gold off the rock.
The school still faces the same direction; the rock remains
behind the school. Now the half a city
block playground in front is entirely surrounded by high mesh fencing, with one
gate into the parking lot and the main access through the school proper.
We walked around the school on the city sidewalks to reach
the stone. Hamilton and Emily were on my
original errand, so they were treated to grandma’s elementary school before
they reached home. As I walked along I
realized the concrete pad bordering the sidewalk was the pad for the playground
fence, once. There were post holes,
filled in with dirt, I guess, all along the pad.
There were names traced in formerly fresh concrete in
several of the pads and we could make out most of them. Here we have Joseph Stalin, Fidel Castro and
Andrea. I wonder if Joseph/Fidel was in
love with Andrea, or if she were a partner in crime. May be the later; she didn’t use her last
name. Such graffiti was way after my time; no one knew Fidel Castro’s name when
I went to Forest Hill. Even the sixth
grade boys weren’t brave enough to write in wet concrete in the 1940’s.
The old trees remain.
They aren’t on the playground; no one plays under them these days. But, like the rock, they remain.
It is always comforting to see that some things from our past still remain.
ReplyDeleteYou make me want to go back to my very first school... just to see if it's as big and scary as it was in the mid 1940's. Did you take a tin cup and chip some gold this time?
ReplyDeleteI don't remember my very first school. I only went to kindergarten there. My parents put me in a chi chi ptivate school after that. I hated it, gave me pre-ulcerous stomach problems. After 7th grade I begged them to let me go to public school which they did.
ReplyDeleteI saw that movie, "The School of Rock"
ReplyDeleteAt least some things don't change.
It's good to visit places in your past, it's a real shock when they are gone. Every now and again I visit my old stomping ground, as I don't live all that far away and check out if things are changed, I'm always sad that things are not the same but thats always the way things go.
ReplyDeleteMerle.......
The old trees are very beautiful indeed. I hope that they, and the rock, are left undisturbed.
ReplyDeleteIt's nice to reminisce and visit places of historic interest. I do love the new school and the old trees.
ReplyDeleteI'm glad the rock was there still. I wonder if the niche in the hedge we used to get into the fields is still at my old school.
ReplyDeleteI'm planning a trip to my hometown sometime next month, I think I'll walk past my old school while I'm there, see how much it has changed.
ReplyDeletelovely that you can still visit your old school and touch the rock and the trees.
ReplyDeleteIt can be weird going back to childhood places.
ReplyDeleteI haven't been back to any of my schools in years. Might give it a try one of these days.
ReplyDeleteIt's always great to find some things don't change.
ReplyDeleteDear Joanne, when I moved back to Independence, Missouri, after being away for 55 years, I do went and revisited the grade school and high school of my youth--St. Mary's. Both are now closed and the buildings used for others activities and I felt sad that children and teenagers no longer roamed the halls of those two school buildings and sat in the desks. Another chapter ended. I've found that growing older means letting go, one by one, of so many things from the past. There's good health that begins to fail; and sometimes memory that begins to fade; and often things we took for granted--like driving--that change. And yet somehow in the midst of letting go we become I think who we were truly called to be. Peace.
ReplyDeleteSharing those memories and the icons must have been a wonderful feeling. It is reassuring to see that the rock and tree were treated well in the construction.
ReplyDeleteI remember feeling a time warp when I first saw my old school again. It made me wonder who I was back then.
ReplyDelete